


Plastic Love

by postmoeapocalypse



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), She-Ra: Princess Of Power
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - Office, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, Host Clubs, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Nostalgia, Tokyo (City)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-08-28 19:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmoeapocalypse/pseuds/postmoeapocalypse
Summary: Catra and Adora grew up together in Tohoku, Japan. A once sweet childhood friendship and first love cleaved apart ungracefully, leaving Catra and Adora to walk in different directions.Now, Catra is just a memory Adora refuses to acknowledge. Adora leaves her childhood behind and moves to the sprawling city of Tokyo. Her office job may be boring, but it pays for the all the nights out and the electric bill. But a chance encounter with the very Catra she had tried to forget rattles her black and white world and maybe shows that Tokyo isn't as big as she thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhh this is the first fic I've ever posted here so forgive me for mistakes. Also I'm crazy in love with the song "Plastic love" by Mariya Takeuchi! Which kind of ends up inspiring this fic....a lot. Idk i just love 1980s Tokyo aesthetic and dancing to forget your feelies :,) (which Adora does a lot of, surprise surprise)

Prologue...

 

Adora would say she could remember the exact details, she wishes she could, really. But she can’t. 

That's the thing about adolescence; it passes by loudly and quickly, in a flurry of colours and emotion. Much like watching a bullet train go by. Except when that’s over, it’s much easier to comb your dishevelled hair back into place and cradle your stinging ears. The same can’t be said about youth. 

Adora can definitely remember a few things, though. She can remember Tohoku in spring, and how the sea breeze would scatter thousands of cherry blossom leaves across the school grounds. She remembers falling asleep in class, and the slap of the ruler on her wrist that came with it. 

Most importantly, she definitely remembers a girl called Catra. 

She remembers each stolen bottle of sake they shared in their freezing cold dormitory. How they ran away to the train station in an attempt to shirk classes and see the city, only to get hopelessly lost; leaving Catra giggling and Adora nearly in tears. All the copied homeworks and the stupid pacts they made. She definitely remembers getting a little too tipsy on sake, and pressing her lips awkwardly against hers, once. Or twice. Or maybe three times. The feeling of Catra’s fingers in her hair when she braided it, each hair on her neck standing up with the touch. Reading stolen magazines with the window open and playing contraband cassettes while their nail paint dried. Their dorm mates telling them to shut up whenever they talked a little too far into the night. Pushing their beds together every night and splitting them every morning before dorm inspection. Each little smile and quip. 

She couldn’t forget the feeling, at least. Of warmth and something a little bit naive. 

But Adora wasn’t sixteen anymore, and she had left the cherry blossoms Tohoku far behind. And when she got on that train, Catra wasn’t there to wave her goodbye. 

When the train swept through Tokyo and she saw the neon lights that they had sworn to see together, Adora promised she would not think about her anymore. She wasn’t a child anymore. There was no dormitory bed to collapse into and sob. There was no shoulder she could cry on anymore. There was a quiet fracture in her heart that she refused to let pull her apart. This was not Tohoku. This was Tokyo.  
And when she stared into the vacant faces of the billboards: she found they began to stare back. 

It was then, she decided to start again and forget.


	2. Jukebox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life starts catching up to Adora. Glimmer does not pay her rent. Our two best gals slurp ramen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long update time waiting! Whoops how did that happen? I'm gonna try my absolute hardest to get out semi-regular updates from now on. The image of Glimmer as slightly 80s punk filled me with such joy that I absolutely had to crank out this short update today. Enjoy glitzy 80s Tokyo gay disasters.

Adora was still trying to figure out what, exactly, was killing her. 

Part of her knew it was the new exercise regime, of course. She’d been trying radio calisthenics; which was hardly a dangerous sport. The entire thing was ridiculous. Overly extravagant piano music that was played with such excessive pomp that it seemed almost patriotic accompanied by synchronised dancing that frankly belonged in a pool, with gaudy flower garlands and hula music. Not even mentioning the leagues of elderly grandparents that flocked from the suburbs to the parks at dawn to join in on the symphony of overly enthusiastic chattering, the cracking-and-popping of joints and that damned piano ringing out, rudely awakening radio calisthenic non-believers. 

As luck would have it, Adora’s roommate, Glimmer, was not a believer. Every one of Adora’s 6am exercise efforts was met with passionate disdain, grumbling that just nearly managed to drown out the radio and the sound of Glimmer’s pillows pelting Adora’s ass whenever she dared to exercise before midday. Glimmer had tried to ban her from getting up so early, on pain of death. Their futons were mere metres apart and Adora could almost feel sorry for her, if Glimmer wasn’t so behind on rent payments. Adora figured the reason she felt like a dead girl walking was a combination of both; waking up so damn early for the world’s worst ‘sport’ and having Tokyo’s most bemoaning roommate on your back. She was going to find a grey hair in her blond hair any day now.

Maybe, it was her job. Ugh. Her job. Adora found it hard to believe that anyone in this city liked their job, much less the salarymen and office workers. Adora spent more hours than she could count hunched over the fax machine and between the crude flashes of the photocopier. Pages upon pages and staples upon staples. She was a junior saleswoman. Technically. Most of the time she spent office hours trying to disappear until 5 pm while still remaining on the payroll. It wasn’t her dream job, clearly. As a girl, she’d wanted to be an athlete. But when she’d moved to Tokyo at 18, university wasn’t exactly an option given her atypical upbringing, atypical as in brought-up-by-monks-in-a-Tohoku-monastery-middle-of-bloody-nowhere-surrounded-by-teenage-girls.

Radio Calisthenics. Work. Bills. Partying, that’s what was killing her. No time to be 20 like now. 

Adora shifted as the train rattled to a halt at Dogenzaka station. She would stop by 7/11 for caffeine tablets, on the way to the disco, she absolutely did not want to be swaying on her feet by the time midnight came around. Not when she’d been waiting days for this. 

“This is Dogenzaka-Shibuya station. Alight here for the Yamanote line and Saikyou Line. Ladies and gentlemen this is Dogenzaka-”

Adora slowly shoved her way through a cluster of people (who insisted on standing by the train door) onto the platform. The subway was more like a zoo than an actual mode of transport, and in all of Adora’s two years in Tokyo, she could never quite get used to the feeling of someone’s nose in her hair. She broke onto the platform, and made her way up the rain slick steps to the underground shopping mall where she had promised to meet Glimmer for ramen. 

It was never hard to find Glimmer, what with the punk-style purple and pink hair and the sharp, chic violet blazer that she was wearing, fit with an impressive amount of shoulder padding. Adora waved to the smaller girl, who was busying herself with looking at the ramen menu. 

“Glimmer!” 

Glimmer strode towards her, weaving through throngs of sarariman and teenagers in uniform, “I’ve been waiting so long for this food, I could die.”  
“Too much time drooling, not enough time spent paying rent,” Adora joked, Glimmer turned bright scarlet and playfully smacked Adora’s side,  
“Hey! That was a low blow,”  
Adora raised an eyebrow, “true, though?”  
“I just did a three-page spread for Aya Miyamoto,” Glimmer said, “rent’s on its way for sure,”  
“Who?”  
“Tch, philistine!” 

Adora sighed, knowing undoubtedly that Glimmer would indulge and buy pork belly and then claim rent was short. Glimmer modelled fulltime in the fashion district. Mostly just small spreads for indie student-magazines and promotions for trendy new bars in Shinjuku and Ikebukuro. Très starving artist. Adora didn’t pretend to understand fashion as well as Glimmer did. She had approximately four outfits, and didn’t feel like buying more anytime soon. Two for work. One for partying. One for working out. It was all she needed, much to Glimmer’s behest. 

Adora queued up and ordered their ramen bowls; miso pork belly for Glimmer, beef tonkotsu for Adora and set them on the standing table, the bowls steaming and the smell of broth and meat in the air. God. Adora and Glimmer started mercilessly slurping. 

“‘M so,” Glimmer moaned between angry bites of pork, “damn….hungry.”  
Adora made general noises of both pleasure and agreement. Really, they ought to be eating at home, they did technically have a cooker (their apartment had little much else in it), and Glimmer’s aunt had given her fancy cooking knives for her birthday a while back. Alas, the worldly temptations of train station ramen won out over reason and rationale. 

“Where are we going to tonight? Le Danseur? Cascada? That new club that opened up in the Red Light District?”  
Glimmer shook her head, “no, no and no. The photographer that was on set today does promotional stuff for this exclusive hostess club that opened up recently in Roppongi, he says he can get us in,”  
Adora winced, lowering her voice, “hostess clubs?” she hissed, “Glimmer, you know how skeevy that is right?”  
Glimmer shrugged, clearly not as psyched out by the prospect of paying women to drink with you as Adora was, “not this one. It’s not even really a hostess club, it’s kinda like...geisha, a bar and a disco all mushed together but with more glitter,”  
“Isn’t that the literal definition of a hostess club?” Adora groaned,  
Glimmer stirred her soup bashfully, and gave her a doe-eyed look from under her heavy bangs, “I guess….Please? It’s not just any old hostess club, it’s got people like me there, and it’s super exclusive. You’ll have a good time, promise.” 

Adora frowned, she would never turn down drinks normally, but truth be told? Hostess clubs freaked her out. The entire experience just seemed far too awkward. Paying someone to talk to you? But she knew there’d be more women like Glimmer there, women that liked other women. Adora was...fine...with that. She didn’t completely understand it, but Glimmer was never weird around her and never made it into a big thing. She had only known one other girl who was the same as Glimmer in that way. And she didn’t think about her. Ever. 

“Okay, fine,” Adora conceded with a groan, to the delight of Glimmer, who immediately started squealing, “but, we’re having pre-drinks in Le Danseur first and I’m not staying past midnight.”  
Glimmer pouted, “one am and we have a deal.”  
“Fine. Deal,” Adora grumbled, exasperated.  
Glimmer smiled a nuclear smile, lifted up the bowl to her lips, and chugged the rest of the broth like she was the last woman standing, and smashed it down on the counter, the edges violently rattling. She produced an electric pink duffle bag, and pulled back harshly to reveal dresses upon dresses stuffed into it. 

“Shall we go get changed, then?”

Adora couldn’t muffle her smile this time. 

“Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDENOTE:
> 
> While this thing is set in 1980s Japan, just a heads up that it won't be entirely historically accurate. In general I just wanted to recreate a time where the Japanese economy was booming and there were all these new shiny things but set just before the time of wideset use of computers and mobile phones. So while this fic is set in Japan and I have tried my best to research it, I sincerely apologize if there are any disrespectful aspects to the story and if there are please tell me in the comments and how I can fix it. I have no intention to appropriate or disrespect the Japanese culture.

**Author's Note:**

> ill try to update every two weeks lmao but I'm always crippled by writers block so forgive me if I can't x


End file.
